


Like Something Rare

by QuickYoke



Series: Prohibition AU [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: 1920s AU, F/F, Glove Kink, Light Dom/sub, Prohibition AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in 1922, Lapis makes a last-minute run of illegal alcohol for a party, and there meets an unexpected guest</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Something Rare

 

> _“I have had my chances. I have tried and tried._
> 
> _I have stitched life into me like a rare organ,_
> 
> _And walked carefully, precariously, like something rare.”_
> 
> _-Sylvia Plath, Three Women_

 

* * *

* * *

 

Light and music shrouded the mansion like a fine tulle. Flossy and delicate. Not a crystal chandelier out of place. Even the waiters’ livery matched the artful ceiling stucco and the lush carpeting in the smoke room. People mingled with ease, the press of their shoulders and jostle of their elbows excused with laughter and further introductions. Like a flock of birds perched all upon the limbs of an ancient sprawling tree, or perhaps like a shoal of silver-bellied fish that glimmered quick and fluid as a single entity over a dark and cavernous trench, they congregated.

Outside the late New England night arched its back against the camed windows, cutting slits of bruiselike purple-black in the walls. The stately house was a self-contained bubble of gold and brightness, rare as a jewel in the black earth. For all its glamour, its preening ostentation, Lapis could think of several places she would rather be attending than this cocktail party.

Standing with her back to a window, feeling the summer heat creep through the panes of glass was the only way she could successfully avoid the errant graze of passersby to any extent. Still the occasional other partygoer -- engrossed in conversation and pickled in gin -- managed to sway in their path across the floor and tread on her toes. They apologised profusely and continued on their way, sheepish, when their bright smiles were met by a flat stare.

Her eyes sought out the grandfather clock not far off. The hands told her that she had already been here for five hours, and none of the other guests looked close to throwing in the towel. Earlier Lapis had already closed deals with a few other clients, and now she had nothing but time to occupy her. The sales had been quick and easy. It helped that all of the booze on the premises had been provided by her and Jasper less than a day previously.

The two of them had made the run in the nick of time in Lapis’ JN-4. Her Jenny had struggled to carry the near-full 500 pound load of illegal alcohol, and when Jasper had insisted on coming along as her ‘escort’ for this run, Lapis was sure the extra weight was going to drop them right out the sky. She had steered the plane over the coast in case they needed to execute a crash landing, and grumbled under her breath, aiming a glare at the back of Jasper’s head the entire trip. When they had landed in backcountry Massachusetts, the host -- Bill Dewey, the mayor of Boston -- had been so grateful for the hasty delivery of such a last minute order that he’d insisted they attend the party.

Personally Lapis had been more pleased at the cash bonus he had included, though a good chunk of it had immediately been spent on acquiring a suit large enough to fit Jasper.

Craning her neck, Lapis peered through the morass of people. There on the other side of the room just near the doorway to the southern parlour, Jasper stood engaged in rapt conversation with four others. Even from this distance her broad-featured face was intense and animated in such a way that Lapis knew she would only be interrupting an excellent pitch if she joined that bull session.

For a brief moment Lapis considered fishing around in her bag for a cigarette, but the last time she had tried that less than an hour ago, no sooner had she stuck one end between her teeth than she was swarmed by three men with lighters and struck matches. When they finally decided who would be the one to light the damn thing, all of them stayed, as if somehow that gesture alone had provided them with a suitable invitation to her full attention.

In an attempt to get them to leave, she had alternatively given dull-toned monosyllabic responses to their queries, or glared over a plume of smoke exhaled from her mouth. They only got the hint when one of them -- who had introduced himself as Kevin -- tried to touch her gloved arm as he offered a drink, at which Lapis had stabbed the cigarette out on the back of his hand. In the ensuing commotion, she had vanished into the crowd.

Which was how she currently found herself here, hiding between a bookcase on one side and a sleek grand piano on the other, counting down the minutes until she could leave. Ideally Lapis would have simply retreated to the guestroom Dewey had granted them for the night, but Jasper had the key and Lapis was about five drinks too short of feeling pathetic enough to sit in an empty hallway upstairs, waiting for Jasper to arrive and let her inside.

With a sigh, Lapis gestured sharply to a waiter and grabbed her third drink for the night with a murmured, “Thanks.” The sterling-backed platter beneath the array of champagne glasses glinted richly in the amber-coloured light. At least everything was free, she thought to herself, even if she did feel trapped. Like just another feature piece among the expensive furnishings.

She handled the glass by its stem so as to not get any condensation on her gloves, pinching the thin stalk between thumb and forefinger as she drank. While Lapis herself played no role in the actual distillery process, she could appreciate its efforts. Anything they produced of a subpar quality was flogged to customers who couldn’t care less about their tastebuds. That or Jasper drank it. Then again Jasper could drink witchhazel over breakfast. Tonight’s event of course had called only for the finest bootleg, though Lapis doubted dear Mayor Dewey would last as a long term client of theirs. She had seen how he sweated around Pearl -- a fact she hadn’t mentioned to Jasper.

Bringing up the topic of their fiercest competitors this side of Chicago was always a surefire way to sour Jasper’s mood, and frankly Lapis liked her peace and quiet. She didn’t give a damn about their share of the black market or about outmaneuvering their competitors. The pay was good and few jobs remained that allowed her to keep her wings now that the War was long gone. That was all the incentive she required.

If Jasper really was so keen to get ahead in the game, what she needed was to stop frightening off every dimwitted mechanic that came to work for them. The last idiot Diamond Inc. had sent down from HQ had blown up one of their larger warehouses in the greater New York region. Lapis swore she had heard the explosion all the way from her Manhattan apartment. He was lucky to have died in the blast; it was a mercy compared to what Jasper would have done to him had he survived.

“You’d think that with all this money, Dewey would be able to afford some modern refrigeration units. Commercial production of Platen and Mungers’ three-fluid configuration has just been greenlit, and yet here we are with some primitive McCray unit, I bet.”

Lapis blinked at the sound of the voice intruding upon her musings. Frowning quizzically, she peered around the bookshelf to see who it was that had spoken. Two men stood just to the side, nursing their gins, but when Lapis glanced down she found the source of the voice. A short woman with round horn-rimmed glasses wearing a tuxedo. Her jacket was gone -- presumably left somewhere in the mansion -- revealing a bowtie and waistcoat over a crumpled white shirt that could have used a good starching.

“A more efficient unit might involve a compressor assembly,” the woman continued, squinting thoughtfully behind her spectacles. The lenses were thick enough to make her eyes appear twice their normal size. “Sulfur dioxide, perhaps? I suppose methyl formate would work, too -”

“Say, is that Jamie Cordero?” One of the men interrupted, nudging his friend with his elbow and jerking his head towards a side door that led to the room that held a blues singer and small ensemble.

“I heard he made a recent breakthrough with his film career. We should congratulate him.” The two of them turned their false smiles, made their hurried apologies, and then escaped. The woman watched them go with a bemused shrug, swirling the last of the scotch in her glass before draining it dry.

Normally Lapis would not have struck up a conversation with so unlikely individual, but she was hard pressed to think of any other way to fill her time -- apart from drinking herself into an early grave that would surely arrive before this party ever ended. Polishing off her champagne, she placed the glass on one of the bookshelves, and stepped forward.

“What brings a scientist to this kind of fête?” she asked, enjoying the slight jump of surprise her words provoked.

The woman spun clumsily around on her heel, pushing the spectacles up the bridge of her nose. Seeping Lapis standing there, she cleared her throat then grumbled, “Misfortune, if the last few hours are any indication.”

Lapis hummed a wordless agreement. “Then I suppose there’s no choice but to entertain each other, since nobody else will.”

For a brief moment the woman looked over her shoulder as if checking to see that Lapis was indeed talking to her. “Uh - sure.” She fumbled with her now empty glass, switching it between her hands so as to offer her right hand to shake. “Peridot.”

Lapis tugged at her gloved fingers, pulling the long length of teal satin down her arm before shaking Peridot’s hand. “Lapis,” she introduced herself. “Are you a chemist, by chance?”

“Electrical engineer.” Peridot said before correcting herself with a grimace. “Well, _would-be_ electrical engineer. I recently graduated. Most people don’t believe me when I say I finished with top marks.”

Her hand was cool and remarkably clean, not at all like Lapis had expected. She turned their hands over to inspect Peridot’s fingernails -- short and stress-bitten, unlike her own neatly clipped manicure. “I don’t think I’ve ever met an engineer of any variety with hands this clean.” Lapis remarked.

A flush crept up Peridot’s neck, but she did not immediately retract her hand. “I’m a firm believer in gloves.”

At that Lapis allowed herself a slow smile. As their hands parted she brushed her fingertips along the soft sensitive skin of Peridot’s inner wrist, and watched in amused self-satisfaction at the shiver she received in return. Near imperceptible, but extant, like a rare artifact to be unearthed, pried from the ground with scalpels and flensing hooks.

Leisurely, Lapis pulled her glove back into place. “Where did you graduate from?” she asked, drawing the glove up to her bicep and pressing each quirk between her fingers.

Peridot’s shoulders took on a defensive almost suspicious slant, accentuated by the slope of her waistcoat. “Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Why? You’re not in the sciences, are you?”

“No. Though I do know my way around an engine or two.” While she preferred making Jasper be the one to get her hands filthy with oil and engine grease, in a pinch Lapis could rummage beneath the cowl of an airplane as adeptly as any two-bit mechanic. As a rule of thumb she kept a pair of sturdy cowhide gloves in the cockpit for just those occasions. They may have been hideous, but they got the job done.

“Cars?” Peridot asked, looking bored.

“Planes.”

Peridot’s face lit up, suddenly as animated as the cogs of a sextant or the reel of a fishing line unspooling. “Oh! What model? When did you learn to fly? Or are you just a mechanic?” The last sounded a touch disappointed.  

Lapis gave her an indulgent smile at the outburst of enthusiasm. “I flew up in a JN-4, modified for increased space and weight capacity. Otherwise my Jenny’s nothing special.”

Lapis did not share how she had won the post-war surplus aircraft in a crooked card game down in Virginia. She still couldn’t show her face in Hampton without having to constantly look over her shoulder.

Peridot’s eyes widened and she sounded breathless when she said. “You flew it _here?_ Can we -?” She cut herself off, fiddling with the rim of her glass, running her fingertips across it in a sudden display of bashfulness. “I mean -”

She didn’t need to finish the question for Lapis to know what she wanted. “I’ve been known to indulge in a bit of barnstorming. For the right price, of course.” Lapis added with a wink.

A crestfallen expression cast its shadow across Peridot’s face. “Ah,” she said glumly.

Lapis arched an eyebrow. “Short on dough?”

“That’s - uh - one way of putting it.” As another waiter passed nearby, Peridot placed her empty glass on the platter and grabbed two more.

Lapis took the drink offered to her -- whiskey, neat -- delicately not allowing their fingers to touch, though she could feel the muted warmth of Peridot’s hand through her glove. “That explains why your outfit didn’t come with a jacket,” she teased, taking a sip, relishing the burn of vanilla, the undercurrent of cloves.

Peridot’s cheeks flared with colour. “My jacket is drying after I tripped into the fountain out the front.”

A snort of laughter echoed into the glass of whiskey, and Lapis fought the grin that pulled at her mouth. “Well, I’m sure I’ll think of some way you can repay me for a ride.”

That old suspicion pinched Peridot’s face like a dart through cloth. “Like what?”

Lapis leaned in, but before she could cast her lure someone jostled her elbow, and instinctively she tightened her grip on the drink even as she stumbled forward a step. She caught herself with her free hand on Peridot’s shoulder, but when she righted herself a split second later Lapis looked down to find that half the contents of her glass had sloshed over her wrist.

Broad stains of whiskey seeped into the fabric of her glove. A muscle in her jaw ticked. She clenched her teeth tightly until they ground against one another in protest. Anger pooled in her stomach, in her mouth, hot and acid-quick, like blood welling beneath the skin at a knife’s touch.

“You -!” a voice gasped out.

When she turned it was to find a familiar face beside her. It was Kevin, who had lit her cigarette before and tried to touch her. His cheeks were blotchy with fury as he recognised her. At some time during the evening he had wrapped his hand in gauze.

His mouth wrenched open, but whatever scathing remark he had been about to make died on his lips as Lapis met his gaze. Her face felt detached. Like an ugly mask. Eyes fixed with something dark, dangerous, and unblinking. The instinct choked her throat and she was strangled with the urge to bare her teeth. The only thing that held her back was the tactility of Peridot’s presence nearby and Jasper’s knowing look from across the room, burrowing into her like the prick of needles. Instead --- never breaking eye contact -- Lapis poured what remained of her drink over the man’s shoes and dropped the glass between his feet where it shattered, fine shards of glass spinning across the section of sleek marble flooring.

Turning, Lapis growled to Peridot, “Come on. We’re leaving.”

As Lapis began to stride away without looking back, she felt more than heard Peridot bumbling in her wake. “Who was that? Where are we going?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Lapis pushed her way past a group of stragglers blocking a door. She curled into her hand into a fist, wetness making the satin crunch as it stretched over her knuckles. “Somewhere without people. I have a business proposal of sorts I want to discuss with you.”

They had to traverse three sprawling rooms, all brimming with guests, musicians, waitstaff, even a pair of befeathered dancing girls, their ankles glittering like stars. When at last Lapis shoved open a door onto the porch, she heaved a heavy sigh of relief. A few pairs of people leaned their elbows upon the wooden railing, their mouths blooming with long pale vines of smoke. Sparks fell from their fingers when they flicked their cigarettes. Lapis ignored them.

High-heeled shoes clacking, she descended a flight of stairs to a walkway leading to a beach within sight. The air was balmy. It made the skin beneath Lapis’ long gloves stick to the lining. She rubbed her fingers together where the material had been doused. With a huff of irritation, she yanked them off, carefully folding them up and tucking them into her handbag, unable to keep the dark glint from her eyes, the tension from her shoulders.

Peridot had remained silent for most of the journey, but now she trotted unevenly to Lapis’ side and hazarded the comment, “I’m guessing those were - uh - nice gloves?”

Lapis had to steady herself with a deep breath, but even so her reply held a snap. “I don’t own gloves that aren’t _nice.”_

Were this Jasper, she would have been tempted to unleash a tirade about her very exacting definition of what constituted a ‘nice’ pair of gloves. But this wasn’t Jasper. This was a potential sale for something far greater than a few casks of moonshine.

“Well,” Peridot mumbled, unsure. She shifted her hands, and only then did Lapis notice that she had grabbed two new drinks for them while they had escaped the party. ”I guess you must be easy to buy presents for.”

Stopping in her tracks, Lapis stared, incredulous. Laughter followed, light and bubbling as the taste of champagne lingering at the back of her tongue. “No,” she smiled, feeling some of the tension drain from her. “No, not at all.”

Parroting the smile with one of her own, Peridot cleared her throat before holding out a drink. “I figured you might need this.”

Her spectacles were crooked. Studying Peridot’s face with sharp eyes, Lapis reached out not for the drink but to adjust the glasses so that they sat evenly on Peridot’s nose. Her fingers brushed the fine hairs at Peridot’s temple, and Lapis had to bite back the sudden urge to seize her by the jaw, jerk her forward until they breathed the same air. With a shaky exhalation Lapis instead took the proffered drink. “Thanks.”

She tossed back half of it in one swallow, bracing herself against the burn with a grimace. They continued a few more steps until Lapis’ heel caught in a gap in the wood-slat walkway. Grumbling, she handed the glass back to Peridot in order to bend over and unhook her shoes. Then, straightening, heels in one hand, she took the drink back with a murmured apology.

“Tell me more about what you studied,” Lapis prompted as they kept walking. Beneath the hose sheathing her legs and feet, the path was smooth and wind-swept. Grains of sand stuck to the silk stockings like burrs.

“Wait - really?” Peridot said, face screwed up in confusion. “That’s - well, that’s the exact opposite reaction I’m used to, honestly.”

“I need a distraction.” Lapis could still taste the fury in her throat, acerbic and vestigial as bile.

Peridot launched into her previous work at university. Most of it flew right over Lapis’ head, but the drone of her voice filled up the space, facts and figures cluttering the air with their complexities. Occasionally Lapis would delve for more information on topics that might prove useful, gauging Peridot’s drive and experience. The further they walked from the mansion, the louder the ocean grew. Over the faintest strains of music behind them, wine-dark waves battered the shore, and their path was illuminated only by an amber gibbous moon.

As they rounded a bend, behind two sand dunes was sequestered a beach house, large enough to accommodate a handful of guests but currently -- mercifully -- empty. The walkway led them right to the small front porch, where Lapis placed her bag and shoes upon an abandoned wicker chair before dropping to the lowest porch step. There she extended her legs and buried her toes into the cool dry sand. The summer air layered heat atop her skin, her clothes, like a slip, a lining, a stifling old Victorian corset.

Beside her Peridot lowered herself onto the step just above so as to keep her polished shoes out of the sand. The alcohol was buzzing in Lapis’ head now, and though Peridot continued to speak she only paid attention to the way Peridot’s fingers idly pried her bowtie loose in an attempt to escape the heat. The action revealed a slender throat, and Lapis sipped at the last of her scotch, relishing the burn and admiring the view as Peridot flicked open two buttons and let the ends of the bowtie drape around her neck like a noose.

Eventually Peridot noticed the staring, and she stopped. “Something tells me you didn’t bring me out here to listen to me talk about Vannevar Bush and his differential analyser.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Lapis said dryly.

“I am a genius, you know.” Peridot replied, waspish and haughty in an utterly endearing way. She set her empty glass aside on the white-washed wooden porch and fumbled in her pocket for a cigarette and lighter. Rather than offer it to Lapis, she lit it up herself with an expert flick of her thumb.

“So I gathered.” Lapis smiled at the look of surprise she received when she reached over and took the cigarette from Peridot’s lips, bringing it to her own and inhaling. The end burned, a pinprick of honey-bright light that caught in her eyes before they were veiled in smoke. Without preamble, she said. “Let’s swim.”

Taking back the cigarette, Peridot glanced over her shoulder towards the glow of the mansion not far off, filling the air with light and music and the sounds of people mingling. “What about the party?”

“What _about_ the party?”

“Shouldn’t-” Peridot took a long drag at the cigarette and ran a hand through her hair nervously. “Shouldn’t we get swimsuits?”

By the time she looked back around Lapis was standing, framed in moonlight, reaching around to unbutton her dress. “You could do that. Or you could help me out of this.”

For a long moment Peridot stared at her, at the drape of moonlight across her neck, her hair, the bluff of her cheek. Then Peridot looked down at her hands, at the cigarette burning itself out, and mumbled, “I can’t swim.”

Lapis paused in the act of taking off the gem-studded headband before slipping it free, allowing her short hair to escape, untethered. “Then we won’t go in very far.” When Peridot refused to look up or say anything further, Lapis sighed. “Stay here then, and look after our things. I won’t be long.”

No sooner had she begun to strip however, than she felt a hand bunch in the fabric of her dress where she had begun to push it down her hips. Startled, Lapis peered down as Peridot lifted up one of her trouser legs to reveal --

“Oh.” Lapis breathed, eyes wide.

Peridot cleared her throat uncomfortably and let the fabric fall back over the metallic ankle joint glinting above her shiny black shoes. “I design and forge them myself, so there’s very little limp. But I don’t think I could make it across the sand without help.” Finally she looked up, wearing a smile that looked more like a grimace. “My earlier swim in the fountain wasn’t just clumsiness, you know. I hate cobblestones.” That last came out as a sullen mutter.

“No cane?” Lapis asked.

Peridot’s mouth twisted into a sour slant. “I don’t like to advertise it.”

“That’s -” Lapis wasn’t normally one for fiddling, but she caught herself worrying the dyed hawk’s feather sewn into her headband. “-fair.”

A lone grunt was Peridot’s response.

Tossing the headband onto the wicker chair atop her handbag, Lapis sank back down onto the step beside Peridot, pulling up her dress as she did so. “Well, now I’d feel like an absolute heel leaving you behind. Do you have another ciggy on you?”

“No. I mean - yes.” Peridot patted her pocket in an absent gesture. “I have more, but we should do it. Swim, I mean.” A flush rose to her cheeks when Lapis arched an eyebrow. “Here. Let’s just -”

She began to shuck her waistcoat and undo more buttons of her shirt, but Lapis stilled her hands with a touch to her wrists. “We don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

Studying the determined jut of Peridot’s jaw, Lapis moved her hands aside in order to undo a button. “Then let me.”

“I can do it myself.” Something hard coiled in Peridot’s voice, making Lapis smile.

“I know.” Lapis flicked another button free. “But I want to.”

Shock swept across Peridot’s face. Slowly she lowered her arms and let Lapis part the front of her shirt and shapeless brassiere, slipping them down her shoulders. When the two garments were thrown aside, Lapis drew a fingertip down Peridot’s sternum to her navel, the touch as light and delicate as Fortuny lace. When she circled the skin of her stomach, an inhalation caught in Peridot's lungs like a winged thing. Plucking at the waistband of Peridot’s trousers, Lapis breathed, “You might need to help with this part.”

Peridot’s hands shook so much it took what seemed to be an age to disentangle her legs from the trousers. Lapis moved down a step to untie her shoelaces and peel the dress socks from the arches of her feet. When Lapis paused to run her palm up to Peridot’s knee, where the lone prosthetic of her left leg was strapped with a series of overlapping leather and metal, Peridot shivered back as if struck by a sudden chill.

“Sorry.” Lapis withdrew her hands.

“It’s -” Peridot stammered. “It’s fine.”

Standing Lapis reached behind herself to swiftly remove her dress. Seeing the 1908 pocket Colt strapped to one of Lapis’ thighs and a flask strapped to the other, Peridot’s eyes widened. “You clearly were expecting something more exciting from this party.”

“Is this not exciting enough for you?” Lapis asked with an impish grin as she unhooked her scrap belt and garters.

Peridot’s gaze raked down Lapis’ body like fingernails. “I never said that.”

Kicking her legs free of silk hosiery, Lapis held out a hand. “Come on. You might want to leave your cheaters behind.”

Peridot allowed herself to be hauled upright, straightening the aforementioned glasses on her nose and aiming a pointed look at Lapis’ bare chest. “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of this exercise?”

In spite of herself Lapis let loose an inelegant snort, and muttered under her breath, _“Cheeky.”_

Only once as they hobbled across the sand together did Peridot stumble, clinging to Lapis’ arm in order to right her gait once more. She seemed to relax somewhat when they reached firm wet sand, hardened by the sea’s constant lashing. Before them the ocean stretched in a wide swathe like folds in living velvet, the seafoam a delicate thread patterned across the darkening shoreline.

“Won’t that rust?” Lapis gestured to the prosthetic as the waves lapped at their ankles.

Peridot gave a nonchalant shrug “I have plenty of others. I upgrade them almost constantly.”

The water was cold, but it was a refreshing change of pace to the humidity. Peridot fortified herself with grit teeth at every incoming wave while they waded out, and she tugged at Lapis’ arm for a halt when they reached waist-depth.

“Now, just make sure we don’t - Lapis? Lapis, what are you -?”

Arms outstretched to either side, Lapis let herself fall backwards, flopping graceless into the water, letting it drink her up whole. Peridot squawked when Lapis sank beneath the waves, looking all around beneath the water’s dark surface only for Lapis to reappear behind her and aim a splash at the back of her head. Spluttering, Peridot reeled about -- too quickly. With a yelp she plunged into the water, flailing. Lapis pursed her lips together to keep from grinning, and helped Peridot upright.

“Are you always this mischievous? I thought I had you pegged for the dark and mysterious type.” Peridot grumbled, but when Lapis didn’t answer, her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “What are -? Oh no. No!”

Before she could squirm away, Lapis spat a mouthful of water directly into her face. Her round glasses beaded with moisture, near useless in this state. While Lapis laughed, Peridot’s face remained stony. “You’re terrible,” she said, wiping at the thick lenses with her fingers to no avail.

“You’re cute,” Lapis replied, admiring her handiwork in the now messy slick of Peridot’s blonde hair.

“Yeah -- well -- you must be the only person in the world who thinks so.”

Before Peridot could place her glasses back into place, Lapis reached up to take them gently between her fingers, folding them shut. Peridot blinked up at her in hazy confusion. The ocean tossed up strange translucent patterns of moonlight on her pale skin, and standing this close Lapis could see a fine sprinkle of freckles across her nose, chest and shoulders.

It took but a single tug at the back of Peridot’s neck to bring their mouths together. Lapis trailed her free hand down to the small of Peridot’s bare back and pressed her close, swallowing down the gasp lured from her throat. She could feel a trickle of water at her ribs, between her breasts. Her fingers dug impressions into soft skin at the first of Peridot’s gasps. Lapis couldn’t tell whether she wanted to keep kissing her or drown her, reel her beneath the wicked undertow. Instead she nipped hard at Peridot’s lower lip, and in response felt hands clutch at her shoulders for support.

A wave crashed into them, almost toppling them sideways. Peridot lurched and would have staggered headlong into the water had it not been for Lapis’ arms around her waist. As they broke apart, Lapis laughed.

Straightening herself with some difficulty, Peridot grumbled. “Didn’t you mention something about a business proposition? Or - hang on.” Peridot’s eyes narrowed. “Is _this_ the business proposition?”

Lapis shook her head, smiling as she brought their mouths together again. Peridot tasted of salt and seawater. “No,” she murmured against Peridot’s lips. “This is free.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Lapis made her way back to the mansion, only a few stragglers still attended the party. She wove through them, slinking as a cat, rounding corners and darting up the stairs before anyone could notice that her clothes were damp. Upstairs Jasper was already waiting in their guest room. Her back was to the door and she sat hunched over a writing desk, scratching at a nondescript notebook with a pen. No doubt she was listing the events of the evening: their new clients acquisitions, their sales.

When Lapis entered, hair still damp and sticking to her jaw, to the back of her neck, Jasper did not turn around at the sound of the door opening and closing shut. Lapis crossed the room and withdrew the sullied gloves from her handbag. With painstaking care she began cleaning them in a ceramic basin that was meant for washing their faces in the morning.

“Fun evening?” Jasper asked without looking up.

“An interesting one at the very least.” Lapis muttered as she rubbed soap into the gloves’ fibres.

“I saw that idiot bump into you and thought you were going to unleash hell, but you don’t seem to be in a bad mood.” A clatter as Jasper put the pen down and scraped the chair back to stand. She walked over and loomed behind Lapis, bending down just enough so that her words brushed the top of Lapis’ damp hair. “What happened? You disappeared with that flat tire, and I couldn't find you.”

“That _flat tire_ is an experienced scientist who will replace our last mechanic. With a bit of -” Lapis dunked the gloves back into the cold water that filled the basin, “-persuasion, she has tentatively agreed to join the team.”

“ _Persuasion._ ” Jasper chuckled, and Lapis felt her run a knuckle along the ridges of her spine from hips to the space between her shoulderblades. “That explains why you look so smug.”

Glancing up into the oval-shaped mirror of the wash station, Lapis gave Jasper a warning look. “I don’t recall giving you permission to touch me.”

“No, but you should.”

Eyes narrowing, Lapis returned her attention to the gloves, gently kneading water from the satin. She should have shrugged Jasper off, but the memory of warmth was fresh on her tongue. Still wet from their ocean excursion, Lapis had shoved Peridot against the cushions of a couch in the nearby beach house and spread her open until Peridot bucked against her and cried out. Peridot’s reciprocated act had been sweet and soft and gentle -- too gentle. All syrup-thick and fraying around the edges with something inexplicably docile.

It was _nice._ Lapis didn’t do nice. It reminded her too much of years past, saturated with guilt like the pews of church, mass attended with covered knees, covered shoulders, covered hair, and long long gloves to hide every shred of skin. Like swimming in silk when she needed cruelty. And here Jasper was.

Without looking around Lapis gave a dismissive wave of one hand. “I’m not finished here. Go wait on the bed.”

She didn't watch Jasper walk away, instead taking the gloves over to the window and gingerly hanging them from a narrow line to dry. Then, striding over to where their travel bags sat upon the floor, Lapis bent down to pick up a hard-backed leather case. She took it to the chaise at the foot of the bed, retrieving a slender key from her handbag. Two brass-studded clasps flew open when she turned the key in its lock, and she opened the lid, her eyes attentive and shadowed, to reveal a myriad of gloves for all occasions.

As Lapis trailed her fingertips along the neat rows of silk, satin, and suede, coveted kidskin and fine delicate lace, Jasper flopped back onto the sheets, mattress groaning beneath her bulk. She crossed her arms behind her neck and leaned against the headboard. “I’ll never understand why you take so long.” Jasper toed off her shoes and kicked them to the floor. “Sure, they feel nice, but in the end aren’t they just gloves?”

“I think a better question is why I put up with you when you’re so mouthy and impatient.” Lapis muttered, pausing in her perusal to admire the stitching of a particularly elegant pair of shoulder-length kidskin Van Raaltes.

“You and I both know I’m the only one who can handle you.” Jasper shot back with a roguish grin when Lapis aimed a disapproving stare over the lid of the leather case.

Finally settling on a pair of elbow-length Kayser-Roths, Lapis draped them over one forearm as she shut the case with a snap, expertly twisting the key free so that her collection was locked away. “All that time complaining and you didn’t even think to undress yourself?”

Jasper sat upright and swung her long legs over the side of the bed. “You weren’t paying attention to me.”

Rather than round the bed to stand before her, Lapis remained where she was. Coolly she tucked the silvery key away and ordered, tone brisk, “Strip.”

A dim satisfaction rolled through her when Jasper obeyed without question. From her place at the foot of the bed Lapis watched, idly running her fingers across the gloves still slung over one arm. As Jasper shucked her singlet and began to tug down her trousers, Lapis said, “Slow down.” At that Jasper’s hands froze and Lapis let out an irate sigh. “I said _slow down_ , not _stop_.”

“I like when you’re angry.” Jasper replied, standing to slide the trousers from her thighs to reveal that she was wearing nothing beneath. “To be honest I’m disappointed you cooled off after you got that drink spilled on you. I’ve been thinking about it all evening.”

Lapis did not respond. Instead she jerked her chin at Jasper’s feet. “Socks off, too. Then sit down.”

Jasper complied without further comment, though Lapis didn’t doubt she would continue to push her luck throughout the remainder of the night. For as long as Lapis had known her Jasper had harboured an unruly streak as broad as an imperial mile.

Mattress sagging beneath Jasper’s weight, Lapis at last rounded the bed, each step punctuated by a sharp click of her high-heeled shoes. She folded the gloves between her hands and turned to show Jasper her back. “Undress me.”

She felt the slow catch of buttons being released from the fabric at the base of her spine. Jasper worked steadily, small tugs bunching the material of Lapis’ dress. When one of Jasper’s fingertips grazed her shoulder to slide the dress free, Lapis snapped, “Don’t touch my skin.”

A pause followed like an unspoken apology, and Jasper continued with utmost care, dragging the dress down Lapis’ torso, pulling lightly as it caught at her hips. Lapis could feel a warm breath shiver at the small of her back as Jasper leaned forward so that she could step free of the garment. It took far longer for Jasper to undo all the tiny clips on Lapis’ brassiere and garter belt without touching her, peeling the damp stockings from her calves like a layer of dusty gossamer skin.

Taking the gem-sewn headband off herself, Lapis tossed it aside. Then, wordlessly, she held out the gloves. The hand-stitched silk shimmered in the low lamplight like ink, a deep blue that bordered on black. She watched in approval as Jasper took them gently, then held out an arm so that Jasper could slide one into place. The fabric slipped over her narrow wrists, cool as liquid poured across her skin.

Jasper knew this near ritualistic process. She had performed it enough times to do it in her sleep, but Lapis could see the impatience in the tightening of muscle at her forearms and broad shoulders. With a quick and unceremonious jerk, she yanked the glove up to Lapis’ elbow. As soon as it had happened, a surge of anger curdled Lapis’ stomach. She slapped Jasper’s hand aside before swooping forward to grab her by the throat. Lapis squeezed -- her hand barely fitting around the front of Jasper’s neck -- until Jasper flinched.

“Do not rush this,” Lapis snapped, her icy tone as fierce a rebuke as her unyielding grip constricting Jasper’s breathing.

Even as Lapis released her, she could see a fire like victory burning in that amber gaze. Lips pursed into a thin line, Lapis held out her other arm. This time Jasper spared no formality. She slowly drew the remaining glove up along Lapis’ inner arm, tracing the points at the back of her hand, pressing the quirks against the juncture of each finger until a fine tremble ran all the way up to Lapis’ shoulder.

As soon as Jasper tried bringing Lapis’ gloved knuckles to her lips however, Lapis twisted her hand around to grip her square chin. Tilting Jasper’s face up, Lapis craned Jasper’s neck back until she was forced to bare her throat. Lapis leaned forward to ghost her mouth along Jasper’s pulse, barely touching her, denying her the simplest of skin contact so that the corded muscles of her arms shuddered.

“You know,” Lapis murmured, allowing her fingers to dig painfully into Jasper’s jaw, her words to tease at the column of Jasper’s throat, “if I’d been given more warning this trip, I could have brought some restraints.”

The thought sent Jasper’s fists curling into the bedsheets and she rasped, “You have plenty of silk in that special briefcase of yours.”

Harshly Lapis pushed Jasper’s head back, and Jasper gave a low grunt. “Those are not for you,” Lapis growled. “You’ll just have to make do.”

Jasper’s torso rocked back ever so slightly before recovering to her seating position on the edge of the bed, hands steadying herself on the mattress. Lapis followed the action with her eyes, reaching out to trill her fingertips across Jasper’s bare collarbone. Jasper arched into the feather light touch as Lapis trailed down her chest, circling her breasts. Jasper’s hands made an abortive motion as though stopping herself from grasping Lapis’ arms and pulling her in close.

Tracing a line to Jasper’s stomach, curing around the divot of her hips, Lapis placed a series of staccato taps along Jasper’s thigh before pushing her knees apart and ordering firmly, “Touch yourself.”

Feet splayed open on the wood-lacquered floor, Jasper reached around and parted herself with one hand, locking her golden cat-eyed gaze with Lapis’, unflinching, unblinking. From past experience Lapis knew that Jasper was a creature of primal action, prone to a hard quick rut whenever it suited her -- up against the door of a water closet stall, in the bed of an uncovered truck, in the cramped cockpit of an aircraft, jammed between leather seats and glass-faced instruments. Her hips jerked upwards, insistent and impatient, as she circled her own clit.

Palms on Jasper’s massive thighs, Lapis leaned all her weight forward so that she crouched over her, bringing their faces close together. Jasper’s eyelids fluttered, surprisingly long lashes sending a shadow across her cheeks and the crooked bridge of her twice-broken nose. She could have thrown Lapis off with ease, but at the harsh dig of Lapis’ fingers into her thighs she instead stilled her hips.

“Better,” Lapis murmured in approval. Though when Jasper tried to surge up into a bruising kiss, Lapis jerked back with a dark adder-like hiss.

Stepping away, Lapis circled the bed, watching Jasper groan at the sudden absence of touch. Lapis’ eyes were hooded and near black in the dim lamplight. She knelt on the mattress behind Jasper, the bed dipping slightly beneath her. Careful so as not to brush her striped and speckled skin, Lapis pulled the curling cascade of Jasper’s peroxide blonde hair aside to show the broad plains of her back, the valley of her spine, the expanse of her scarred shoulders. Lapis counted the ones she had given her in the past -- nine narrow lines delivered at a knife’s edge here, four jagged patches from an enthusiastic lash there. The others she did not know how Jasper received.

Wrenching Jasper’s head to one side by her hair, the resultant clench of Jasper’s jaw felt earned. Small slick sounds filled the air as Jasper’s fingers continued to work. Lapis watched the movements, the thrusts up to the knuckle followed by the hard press against her clit. When Lapis lowered her mouth to scrape her teeth across Jasper’s shoulder, she was rewarded with a long drawn-out groan.

She fixed her teeth into the hard knot of muscle where Jasper’s arm fitted into its joint at the shoulder. Drawing blood to the surface, Lapis grew bruises across Jasper’s mottled skin like poppies of ink until Jasper was reduced to a shivering mess. As Lapis bit down hard, tasting a burst of iron on her tongue, Jasper’s hips twitched. A pleased growl rumbled at the back of Lapis’ throat, and she swept her hand down Jasper’s arm to the crook of her elbow before reaching around to squeeze one of Jasper’s breasts. Jasper panted as Lapis flicked a nipple between thumb and forefinger, and picked a fresh patch of skin at her neck to draw blood.

When Jasper’s chest began to heave, the space between her shoulderblades prickling with sweat, Lapis snapped. “Not yet.”

She played with the shell of Jasper’s ear with her teeth until the skin reddened, pressing her body forward until her front was plastered to Jasper’s back. Jasper shuddered at the warmth, the sudden contact of their naked skin. The bucking of her hips grew increasingly erratic, but whenever she grew close, she slowed all movement with a whine. Lapis let her wallow in her own heat until Jasper’s muscles twitched and bunched at her forearms, her calves, her straining stomach. She brought her free hand up to squeeze the gasping breaths from Jasper’s throat. The thought simmered, roiling -- of drowning her, of throttling her beneath the water’s surface and watching the life ebb and flow -- and Lapis felt a thrill skitter through her like a frisson.

 _“Now.”_ She demanded, yanking Jasper’s face around by the jaw to kiss her forcefully. Jasper snarled into it as she came, body jolting and quaking with the force of her release. When she descended from the high, hips rolling shallowly then going still, Jasper pulled back from the kiss to butt her nose and brow at the underside of Lapis’ chin, mumbling wordlessly.

Lapis allowed it for a moment before pulling back with an admonishing look. “Someone’s unusually affectionate tonight. It doesn’t become you.”

Jasper scowled. “I was enjoying myself, and then you had to go and open your mouth.”

“Funny. That’s usually my line.” Grabbing Jasper by the shoulders, Lapis guided her down to lie flat on the bed, leaving a few red streaks on the cream-coloured sheets. “We’re not done yet, by the way.”

Emboldened and derisive, Jasper snorted. “Heaven forbid you not get off. Haven’t you already gotten your jollies out of that skinny bit from earlier?”

“Why? Would you like to hear about it?” Lapis knew Jasper secretly despised the openness of whatever poisonous thing it was they shared, though she would rather eat a whole lit cigarette than admit it aloud. She also knew Jasper couldn’t pass up an opportunity of self-flagellation, be it physical or otherwise.

A triumphant smirk pulled at the corners of Lapis’ lips as she saw Jasper’s eyes darken to a raw copper at the suggestion. Repositioning herself so that she straddled Jasper’s shoulders, knees planted on either side of her head, Lapis grinning down at her. “How about how fumbling and sweet she was? Not at all like you. Not in the slightest. Honestly it was a nice change of  pace. You could learn a thing or two.”

Jasper sneered, toying with the small buckles of the shoes still strapped at Lapis’ ankles. “You’ll get bored of that. You always do.”

Ignoring her, Lapis brushed aside a few errant strands of hair from Jasper’s brow, a deceptively light gesture. “Or what about how she tasted? How she twisted and writhed as I took her a second and third time? You know we cuddled afterwards. I even let her fix my hair for me.”

The closest she and Jasper ever came to cuddling was when they panted in a tangle of limbs, too spent to move apart until one of them -- usually Lapis, but not always -- pushed the other away.

At the half-strangled growl in Jasper’s chest, Lapis lowered herself as Jasper rose up to meet her halfway. Jasper’s tongue was a length of heat against her. Tilting her head back, Lapis sighed toward the ceiling. Her eyes slid shut. She focused on sound and sensation, at the stroke of Jasper’s tongue and the wetness down her inner thighs. Jasper’s large hands grasped the backs of her legs, pulling her closer.

Any other time Lapis would have chastened such audacity, but now she rolled her hips against Jasper’s mouth and bit at her lower lip. Bringing her hands up, Lapis ran her silk-shrouded fingers across her own stomach, her waist, counting the warmth and shape of each rib through her gloves, relishing their texture as she cupped her breasts.

Soon -- far sooner than usual -- Lapis choked on a moan and bucked against Jasper’s face as Jasper thrust her tongue into her. Even while Lapis’ movements slowed, Jasper continued, relentless, until Lapis was coming again, knees slipping against the sheets for purchase, rutting and gasping with shameless abandon. She ground herself down, muffling the sound of a cry in the palm of one hand. When Jasper still refused to let up, Lapis reached down, burying her fists into Jasper’s hair and wrenching her away.

“That’s enough.” Her chest rose and fell with every ragged breath. Lapis allowed herself only a brief moment to regain some semblance of composure before swinging one leg over to clamber from the bed. She winced at the residual tightness in her thighs; Jasper’s shoulders were too broad to straddle for any extended period of time.

Striding to the other side of the room, Lapis stripped her gloves off as she went. At the wash station she kicked off her shoes -- losing a precious few inches in the process -- before using the previously poured water to dab the silk gloves clean. They had not seen much work tonight, but it wasn’t about that. It was the ritual of the thing. And that was all that mattered.

Jasper remained sprawled across the mattress, arms hanging over the sides. She dwarfed the bed and its frame, knees bent slightly so that she could fit without her feet hanging over the end and onto the back of the chaise there. Lapis could hear her shuffling to reach over and grab the singlet shed onto the floor in order to wipe at the bottom half of her face. When she spoke, her voice was somewhat muffled by the white cotton fabric. “So, when do I get to meet the new blood?”

“She’s staying in town. We can drive in tomorrow morning, though I’m sure you’d like to check her credentials before bringing her on board.” Carefully Lapis finished cleaning the gloves and lined them up to dry beside the others where they hung silhouetted in the window like phantom limbs. “Try not to scare this one off.”

At that Jasper snorted. “Me? If she had a drop of sense, she would run for the hills after a night with _you._ ”

The muscles at Lapis’ jaw tensed, but she could not find it in herself to offer a defense. Instead she walked stiffly over to the other unused bed and slipped beneath the covers. The buzz had long since faded; she would have a bad case of the Irish flu in the morning. She pulled one of the pillows over her head, turning over to face away from Jasper, and grumbled, “Get some sleep and be quiet already.”

Jasper leaned over to flick off the lamp between their beds, and her raspy hum of laughter hung in the air long after the darkness swallowed them up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to my friends, Jordan and Ivory, for helping out with this AU.


End file.
